


Mixed Signals

by baby_banshee



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Din Djarin's Helmet Stays on During Sex, Din has a dirty mouth, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hand Jobs, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Phone Sex, Pining, Rough Kissing, Sexual Tension, Smut, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27636011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baby_banshee/pseuds/baby_banshee
Summary: You lead a rather boring life. Destined to work at Control Tower six, your days are spent letting ships dock at the small port where you live. And while you entertain yourself with letting handsome strangers into the tower to have your way with them, you wouldn't ever say your life is exciting. That is--until you accidentally send a rather naughty hologram message to an unsuspecting Mandalorian.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader
Comments: 46
Kudos: 422





	1. You really ought to be more careful

* * *

Finding love on a desolate planet like Carajam isn’t easy. The only eligible partners to choose from are dirty smugglers, aging thieves, or rough men running from their unpaid debts. None are particularly the best choice for a girl in her prime. Even on a planet where men outnumber women 3 to 1, it wasn’t easy.

Which is why you had given up on finding love a long time ago. You were only in your mid-twenties but had been forced to grow up at an early age. Of course, it wasn't due to some tragedy--though your mother had died when you were a child. No, the sudden death of your mother when you were a child isn't what forced you to grow up. It was just hard to stay a naive, wide-eyed girl when you had five older brothers and was raised by a clueless father on a planet full of ne'er do wells.

Sure, your father would have preferred if you had stayed a naive girl all your life, but every other month, your brothers would return from their travels with plenty of stories of far away planets, the sex they would have with strange women, and their encounters with violence. Innocence went out the window a long time ago and you loved hearing their stories of battles in space and exotic women who weren't always human.

Your father would scold your brothers for bragging within earshot of you, but no matter how many times he tried to send you away from their gossip, you found your way back.

Being the youngest--and quite younger than the brother before you--you were still a child when they all left Carajam to pursue their own lives. And eventually, their trips home became few and far between. The only stories you could hear were from the old perverts in town. And hearing them drunkenly brag about their whore conquests wasn't exactly what you had in mind. What you wanted to hear about were the battles and bloodshed and exciting adventures.

During your teen years, something shifted and the tales of violence you longed for turned into love stories. You tried to flirt with the local boys around your age but they were only interested in one thing, just like your father had always warned. You wanted something more--something different. A valiant Rebel coming to whisk you to the stars or a General in the Empire who falls in love with you and decides to run away to live happily ever after.

Those were the tales you wanted to tell.

But you learned quickly that those kinds of things didn't happen to someone like you. Not when your future had been decided for you long before you were born. As the youngest of your family with no war to fight for, you were expected to take over your father's business.

And well, it wasn't as much of a business as it was a duty.

A duty to the scoundrels and thieves of Carajam.

Your family had been parked at the spaceport on the backwater planet for generations, manning the only control station from here to Tatooine. Most of the folks that stopped here wanted to refuel or hide from the bounty hunters.

They didn't exactly bring many gentlemen with them.

It wasn't like you had any authority over who came and went. Your father never cared about the business these people kept and neither do you. It's not your place to judge them.

But like most scoundrels and thieves in the galaxy, on the rare occasion, some of the men that land on the port that you control are handsome. They may have a few more scars than you prefer, but you're not choosy. After all, if you can't have your romance, then you'll settle for some good sex.

Which was exactly what you were looking for tonight. And you find it in a man a few years younger than you are. He's shorter than you prefer and a bit too skinny, but he had gotten you drunk at the cantina and after whispering promises to make you feel good all night, you took him up on his offer.

And currently, you were leading him up to the control tower where you spent most of your life. After your father passed away, you had taken over his position and dedicated the last few years to guiding ships into the planet and making sure that none of them would cause too much trouble.

Thankfully, no Empire ships had ever tried to gain entry--though what would they even want from a place like this?

You push your way into the door to the top of the control tower and pull your new friend along with you. He's far too handsome to be a local boy and he even has all of his teeth too. With a cheeky smirk, he moves into the room behind you and catches you around the waist with one arm.

The entire upper tower is the control room. Windows cover every wall, giving you three-hundred-and-sixty degree views of the night sky. Currently, two crescent moons hang in the black northwest sky above the tower, and below on the desert ground is the town that you had found this particular smuggler. He had been drinking at the tavern and the moment you had spotted him-- a little dirty, but relatively clean-shaven, and cute, you knew you would be bringing him back home.

Well, to the tower four stories above your actual home, that is. The men you occasionally find that are suitable for your tastes always found it far more exciting to do naughty things up here than in your bed. Sometimes, you let them take you to their ships where they'd sit you in the cockpit and show you _their_ cockpits.

The joke almost makes you laugh and you quickly cover your grin by kissing the new stranger. He glances around you to the main control panel and his eyes go wide. In the light of the moons, you can see his look of surprise at the expansive view you have and you want to snap him back to attention.

_Oh shit,_ you think. You'd forgotten his name.

Hal?

No. Maybe Sal?

_Shit!_

Just as you playfully pull him closer to your body and kiss the stubble across his jaw, the intercom on the control panel behind you crackles to life. You sigh and turn, your fist still clenching around the fabric of your new friend's shirt. A static voice comes in over the system and you press the button to hear the message.

"Control Tower Six, do you copy?"

At one time, there had been five other towers positioned around the planet. Now, only yours remains and you lean down to speak into the microphone positioned on the dash. "This is Six, please state your intentions."

From behind you, your new friend spreads his hands up your backside and leans over you to kiss the back of your neck. The corner of your lips spread into a grin and you push your hips into him. It's instantly clear how excited he is and you resist the urge to moan.

As the man kisses his way to the side of your neck and slides one hand around your waist to the belt around your pants, you close your eyes. Fuck, it's been so long since you've had this.

"Requesting clearance to dock."

You bite your lip. In the heat of the moment, you'd forgotten what you were even doing. Pressing the intercom button once more, you lean down just as your companion pulls the belt from around your waist. "Ship identification number?"

The pilot rattles off a familiar number and you glance to the windows, logging him into the computer system. Ah, your old friend the Mandalorian. He was one of the regulars, usually searching for men who had dipped out on their debts. He would drop by every few months, collect his bounty, and jet off without many words. But he was always cordial and polite and more than once he had tipped you some credits for always allowing him entry to the port.

The hands around your waist spin you around until your backside is against the control panel and suddenly, his lips are on yours and his tongue is in your mouth. You rake your fingernails through his hair and think briefly about the poor Mandalorian circling the atmosphere, waiting for permission.

You pull away from the kiss long enough to slam your palm down on the intercom button. "Permission granted. The port is open to--ah--dock!"

You suck in a breath as a hand slides into the front of your pants, dipping past your panties and sliding between your thighs. Fuck! You'd almost forgotten what this feels like. He uses one hand to push you up onto the control panel and you gasp. He's quick to pull at your pants and you let him wiggle them off of your hips. Once you're half-naked, sitting on the dash, he drops to his knees and you let your head fall back against the windows.

Behind you, you can see the shadow of the Mandalorian's ship pass in front of the moons and you slide to the left just a bit, careful not to press into any of the buttons to turn on the intercom. How embarrassing it would be to be moaning and panting while the unsuspecting Mandalorian listens to you.

You watch the man drop to his knees in front of you and with a quick smirk, he dips his head toward your center. A gasp is sucked from your lungs and you let your head fall back against the windows. And while you had been careful not to press the intercom button, you had completely forgotten about another.

The hologram recording system had been installed several years ago and because you rarely used it, you completely ignored the red light that appeared on the dash as the computer recorded you. And since it was programmed to send a message to the last ship registered into the system, that poor, unsuspecting Mandalorian would be getting quite an eyeful of you sitting on the dash of the control tower with a man between your legs, making you orgasm.

* * *


	2. Oh, this Mandalorian has some nerve!

* * *

The red blinking light flashes on and off every three seconds and in between those flashes, you feel the slow creep of panic start to set in. It was rare that you see this kind of notification on the dash of the control panel but you knew what it is. One outgoing message.

One outgoing message that you definitely do not remember sending. In fact, the last thing you can remember about the previous night was shooing your new friend out the door after he'd half-kept his promise. He definitely made you feel good with a single orgasm but the poor guy couldn't manage to last longer than 45 seconds when he was inside of you.

It's not like you didn't understand. You did.

Men traveling for weeks in space with nothing but their imagination and their hands to keep them satisfied probably shouldn't make promises about hours-long sex sessions, but it's not like you can fault him for it. You'd came pretty quickly from the work he had put in between your thighs.

And remembering the way he had dropped to his knees and made you come with just his tongue should have made you smile at the memories. Instead, all you can do is stare at that damn blinking light. After your orgasm, the two of you had dropped to the floor in front of the control panel, spent 45 seconds of actual sex and about 15 seconds of catching your breaths, and then you had all but shoved him out the door.

Now that it's morning, you know damn well you hadn't sent any messages the night before, and yet...the hologram light was blinking. A queasy feeling rumbles through your stomach and you sit down on the rolling chair before sliding it close to the dash.

This was either going to be a humiliating moment that you would never live down or just a malfunction with the device. You hope it's the latter as you reach across the dash and push the replay message button.

It takes a moment for the hologram to flare to life but when it does, you come face to face with...well, your face. Your mouth is open, eyes shut, one hand weaving through your hair while the other grips the back of the head between your thighs and _fuck!_ You can see everything. The message plays like a nightmare and you watch yourself gasp and writhe against the dash and then-- _fuck, fuck, fuck!_

Your hologram version strips her shirt off and there you are, bare-chested for whoever you had accidentally sent the message to. The heat of embarrassment flares across your face and all you want to do is delete the message, crawl under the dash, and hope the planet swallows you whole. But you can't. It's like watching a ship crashing. It's horrifying, but you can't look away.

The echoes of the same moans and dirty comments you had made to the man between your thighs the previous night repeat in your ears and you groan in misery. Oh, this is bad.

And it's about to get worse.

As the message comes to an abrupt end with you falling to the floor to continue your exploits for the next minute, you move your hand to the message log and type in the ship's identification number. You already know who it was sent to but you just need to be sure.

Sure enough, the familiar letters and numbers identifying the Mandalorian's ship appears on the screen, and once again, you groan and drop your head onto the dash. You can't fathom what could have been going through his head when he received the message. He must be thinking you're such a whore!

You bang your head a few more times on the dash just for good measure and sit up. The chair wheels shriek as you move closer to the dash and you know what you have to do...but it's going to be hard.

Your fingers hover over the keys on the control panel and you frown. Before you call up the Mandalorian and apologize profusely, you stand from the chair and peer through the window in front of you. Down on the shipyard, you can see most of the ships that docked for the night and you're relieved to see the ship has already left.

Thank the stars. Doing this is already humiliating enough. Having to call him up and apologize for being a massive pervert when he's still on the planet is just out of the question. Still, it doesn't make things easier and you groan as you tap the keys to call to the Mandalorian's ship.

He shouldn't be too far out of orbit so the communication _should_ be instant. The last thing you want is having to leave another message. But then again...talking directly to him might be worse.

_Shit_!

You move to end the communication just as the static crackles to life. You hold your breath and silence meets your ears. He's waiting for you to speak and suddenly your voice is nowhere to be found. Quickly, you wrack your brain for any excuse to be contacting his ship and can think of nothing.

What's wrong with you?

"Control Tower Six," his deep voice cuts through your thoughts and you nearly jump back. "Is there a reason you opened communications with me?"

"Um, yes." It's a miracle! You can speak! "I just wanted to...to apologize if you received a holo message from me last night or this morning. It was a complete mistake and if I had known I was even recording something like that, I would have never, you know? I mean, assuming you even received the message." Your rambling comes to an abrupt stop as you clamp your lips shut tight.

On the intercom, the static is quiet and you wonder if you've lost communications. But then it crackles and he speaks again. "I did."

_Fuck_.

Of course, he got the message. Your luck was never the good kind. Slapping a hand to your forehead, you think again about crawling beneath the dash and waiting for the planet to swallow you whole. You press the button on the intercom system again and lean down to the mic.

"That's what I was afraid of. I would appreciate it if you just delete the transmission and forget this ever happened because that isn't exactly the kind of message I want someone to see of me, you know?"

"I can do that."

Something in the way he said it makes you frown and you tap your fingernails against the control panel. He _can_ do it...but does that mean he's going to? Maybe there's just a language barrier. He's clearly not from Carajam and you're definitely not from wherever he comes from.

You ignore it and press the button again.

"Well, thank you. And again, I feel like I should apologize because never in a million years would I send you something like that on purpose."

"Yeah?" There's that tone again and you pull back away from the mic, staring down at it as if you could see the Mandalorian's helmet in front of you. "That's a shame."

All the air is knocked from your lungs as if he had punched you in the gut and you can only blink. Was he...Was he flirting with you? Did he actually _enjoy_ the message you sent him? No, that would be ridiculous. Who would want to see something like that--Okay, even you can admit that you would have watched out of curiosity but that didn't mean you liked knowing some stranger saw you in a very intimate moment.

No words come out. What can you even say to that anyway?

"Control Tower Six, are you still there?"

The sound of his voice makes you blink and you lean over the mic once more. "Yes. I'm just...I'm sorry to ask this but, did you _watch it_?"

There's nothing in your tone that could possibly suggest that you _wanted_ him to watch it, but you regret asking anyway. He doesn't answer right away and in the seconds it takes him to respond, the panic starts to surge in your chest again.

"That depends."

When you answer him, your voice is barely a whisper. "On what?"

"On whether or not you wanted me to watch it."

Oh, this Mandalorian has some nerve! If you say you don't want him to watch it, then he'd lie and say he didn't. He's waiting for _you_ to give him permission to watch it! You press the button to speak but can only scoff until your brain caught up to speed.

"Don't be ridiculous! Why would I want someone to see something like that? That was a private moment between me and...a friend." You still couldn't remember the guy's name. "If I wanted you to see me in that position I would have invited you to watch--"

You slap your hands around your mouth and your eyes go wide. Why in the world would you say that? This Mandalorian has you all flustered and rambling and acting _stupid_ all because he has kind of a sexy voice and now knows what you look like naked!

"Is that right?" Even with the static surrounding his words, you can't deny that his voice _is_ sexy. "Well, the next time I come to Carajam, you let me know if I'm invited to watch."

For the second time, it feels as if he's punched you in the gut and knocked all of the air out of your lungs. But instead of feeling shocked and offended you're...kind of turned on by his confidence and cockiness. Were all Mandalorians like this...or just this one?

You blink down at the comm system and hover your finger over the mic button. What else could you say to him? Half of you wanted to tell him to shove it up his rear end and the other wanted to blush and ask him when he's coming back. You clear your throat and push the button to speak.

"I..."

There's nothing you can say.

"Is there anything else you needed, Control Tower Six?"

"No," you manage to croak.

"Then I'll have to end the communication."

"Okay."

And with that, the transmission is severed and you can only sit there and stare down at the control panel computer. Your pulse is racing a bit and you realize a bit too late that you didn't even make sure he would delete the message. You wonder if he even would. From the way he spoke to you, you're not exactly sure he would.

In fact, you assume that he wouldn't delete and would watch it _again._

The fact that the thought of it excites you is something you're just not going to even dwell on for the time being. Besides, there's no telling when he'll even come back into your neck of the woods and even if he did, you wouldn't invite him to watch anything.

But now that the little thought is in the back of your mind, you can't seem to stop thinking about the Mandalorian and the possibility of him thinking of _you_ as well.

* * *


	3. Spotchka and bad decisions don't mix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, the razor crest blew up in season 2, so I guess I'll change the first few chapters to accommodate that. Let's all just pretend Din has a new ship and this story takes place after the season finale. Also, I'm not even sure if spotchka is alcoholic but in this fic, it is. Enjoy!

* * *

Weeks pass and though you had been mortified by the conversation you shared with the Mandalorian, you still haven’t erased the outgoing holo message. In fact, you had watched it again once the initial humiliation had faded. And all the while your hologram image had panted and moaned, you couldn’t help thinking about what the Mandalorian was thinking while watching it.

Did he like it?

Why did it turn you on to think about it?

Eventually, you grew tired of thinking about it and had retired from your control tower for the night to spend it in the cantina. The woman behind the bar is a bit older than you but the closest thing to a friend that you had on Carajam. She swipes a rag over a few crumbs left behind by some smuggler who is currently stumbling out the door and glances up at you.

“Why the sour face, Six?” 

It’s a nickname that most of the permanent residences in the town call you and you never care enough to correct them. You gulp down some of your spotchka, smack your lips and look up at Tera. 

“You don’t wanna know.”

And it’s not like you even know the answer either. You usually don’t get this irritable so soon after a night of sex with handsome strangers, but you haven’t been able to shake this mood since you had sent that stupid message. 

“Try me.”

With a sigh, you glance around at the other patrons of the cantina. It’s a slow night with only a handful of others hanging about and none seem sober enough to overhear you. But that didn’t mean you particularly wanted Tera to know the reason behind your moodiness. Groaning, you shake your head and wince as you look up at her.

“I did something stupid.”

“Oh, I already figured that. Spill.” She tosses the rag beneath the counter and leans forward, her dark eyes sparkling with interest. 

Despite the glimmer of excitement at the mention of possible gossip on Tera’s face, you’re still nervous to admit your mistake to her. But you do. You tell her about the stranger you’d invited back to your tower, about how he had been a fairly decent lover that at least gave you what you wanted before his 45 seconds of thrusting. All the while, Tera follows along, nodding when she should and laughing when you crack jokes.

But soon, it’s time to tell her the rest and your face is brighter than the sun when you admit to it. Again, the need to bury yourself beneath the ground and hide away rises and you swallow it back with a bitter mouthful of spotchka. 

Tera is quiet as you end the story by telling her what the Mandalorian had said to you in your last conversation. Her eyes are narrowed, lips pursed slightly though it doesn’t take long before the corners of her mouth curl into a grin.

You groan, knowing she’s not going to let this go without further humiliating you. 

“He didn’t say that,” she says with playful doubt dripping from her tone. She shakes her head and grabs the decanter of bright, blue liquid before topping your cup off. “Mandalorians are stuffy and boring. From what I’ve heard, anyway.”

“Yeah,” you say, looking down into the cup. “This one is a bit feisty.”

“You’re serious.” Tera’s hand stills on the decanter and she blinks. “He said all that to you?”

You nod. 

“Damn, Six! You snagged you a Mandalorian and you’re sitting here like you’re miserable?”

“Shhh!” You hold your hands up to quiet her down and scowl at her. “I didn’t  _ snag _ a Mandalorian. He’s just being...cheeky because he knew I was embarrassed.”

“If what you told me is true,” Tera starts, leaning an elbow onto the bar and pointing a finger at you. “That’s more than being cheeky. That was flirting and if you’re so hell-bent on bedding any decent looking man that strolls through here, then  _ that _ would be a hell of a conquest.”

You stare at your friend, hand around your cup, and feel your jaw drop slightly. She’s serious which is surprising. Tera’s just as dirty-minded and free-spirited as you are but if she’s suggesting you try to sleep with a Mandalorian, she’s gone crazy. 

They were warriors and bounty hunters. What interest did they have in sex?

The words you’d shared with the Mandalorian weeks ago repeats in your head. ‘ _ Well, the next time I come to Carajam, you let me know if I'm invited to watch. _ ’ That didn’t sound like someone who wasn’t interested in sex, but you’ve only met a whopping one Mandalorian. For all you know, this is just the way they talk.

He isn’t interested. 

It’s a ridiculous thing to even think about.

But now that the idea is in your head, you can’t help wondering if he  _ did _ want to be invited to watch...or join you. 

You scoff and wave her off with a roll of your eyes before picking up your cup. You put it to your lips and shake your head, saying, “don’t be ridiculous,” around the rim. 

Tera stares pointedly at you as you drink, telling you that she’s being genuine and you blink at her. 

“You can’t be suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.”

The woman shrugs and nods to a new customer stepping up to the bar. She walks backward for a moment, keeping her eyes on yours and the smirk on her lips. “All I’m suggesting is...maybe you send him another message and see what happens.” 

And with that, she turns to assist the old man who slides next to the bar and orders enough alcohol for ten men. You blink after her and shake your head. There’s no way you’re sending another message to the Mandalorian. It’s bad enough knowing he might return to the planet one day to collect another bounty. You’d be forced to talk to him then and until then, you’re not going to contact him.

_ Unless _ …

You stare down into the spotchka she had poured you and purse your lips. Maybe it’s not such a good idea to have these ideas floating in your head when you’re feeling just tipsy enough to do something about it. This is more than likely Tera’s plan and why she had poured you another cup, you realize with a scowl. 

That bitch. 

With a roll of your eyes, you knock the rest of the spotchka back, swallow it and stand from the stool. At the other end of the bar, Tera is explaining to the man that he can’t possibly drink enough pints for ten men and doesn’t notice you. Good. You didn’t want to see the cocky little smirk on her face.

Tossing a couple of credits down onto the bar, you snatch your jacket from the stool next to yours and turn on your heel. It’s best to get out before she notices your absence and besides...you still need to gather your thoughts before making it back to the tower for the night.

Not that you were going to send him a message.

What would you even say anyway?

_ Hey, I know I said I didn’t want you to watch my holo message, but if you did, what did you think _ ?

No, that was beyond stupid. Why would you care what he thinks anyway? 

You slip your arms into your jacket and zip it up to your chest, tipping your head back to breathe in a deep breath of the warm, desert air. The moons are overhead, a bit brighter than they had been the night you’d sent the initial message and you stare at them while you walk back to your tower.

How strange it is that you’ve thought more about a short, strange conversation the past few weeks than you’ve thought about the last man you slept with. You still couldn’t remember his name but if you couldn’t think of it by now, you never will. 

The tower looms over your head and you stare up at the room at the very top. The moonlight reflects off the glass window and beyond it, the stars are twinkling brightly. Was the Mandalorian even in the same sector? If he was too far away, a message might not reach him tonight.

Meaning, he would read it and possibly respond when you’re sober. And that had disastrous potential for further humiliation. 

Shaking your head, you climb the tower steps and push your way into the control room. Despite the air being a bit cooler up here, sweat is clinging to the back of your shoulders and you shed your jacket, tossing it onto a table beside the door. Across the room is the holo computer and you take a deep breath while glaring at it.

That damn thing.

It’s more trouble than it’s worth but still, you make your way to it and pull the rolling chair up to the dash. Tera’s words repeat in your head, mingling with the effects of the spotchka and you let out a sigh. 

_ All I’m suggesting is...maybe you send him another message and see what happens… _

Easier said than done. What the hell are you supposed to say? The last time, you’d just laid back and let your new found friend do all the work. Now that you were alone, what the hell were you supposed to do? Touch yourself or--

Warmth lights your face and you shake the idea from your head. Isn’t it bad enough that this bounty hunter has seen you with your legs open and breasts out while having a man pleasure you with his mouth? Why would you add more embarrassment on top of it all by touching yourself in a holo message? 

Then again...he’s already seen so much of you...what’s one more message?

And he  _ did _ say for you to invite him to watch next time. This wasn’t an invitation for a next time though. This was just something to test the waters. To see if he was being cheeky or if he actually  _ does _ want to see more. It still felt as if you were toeing some forbidden line. 

Weren’t Mandalorians super strict?

Then again, if they were human under all that armor, they have desires and needs and it’s not like you’re asking him to fuck you. This is just something he might enjoy.

Though your fingers are shaking like it's your first time, you stand from the chair and peel off another layer from your torso. Your shirt falls to the ground and even alone, you feel a bit vulnerable in just the thin undershirt you wear. Next, your pants fall to the floor and you stand at the dash, staring at the button of the holo message as you gather the courage.

Oh, this is stupid!

You throw your hands up in the air and fall back on the chair. It rolls away from the dash, enough that you can stretch out and prop your heels on it and you let your head fall back against the chair. No Mandalorian, cheeky or not, wanted to see some strange woman touching herself.

No matter how much it would turn you on to know he was watching it, you’re not going to. There’s no way. 

No amount of teasing from Tera, no amount of ‘what ifs’ and no amount of possible flirting with a man that isn’t even in this parsec anymore could change your mind. 

You close your eyes and lower your arms from your chest to your stomach, drumming your fingers over the soft, stretch of flesh there. Absently, while your mind was still arguing about between the two options you had, the drumming of your fingers turned into soft caresses and you shifted on the chair until your hips were just a bit lower.

The lower part of your backside sat right at the edge of the cushion and you lifted your head to stare down the length of your body. Just beside your heel on the dash, the holo recording button sat and all you had to do was gently toe the recorder down to where you sat. 

Your body acted on its own while your head was still distracted and you nudged the lens right at your body. Biting your lower lip, you slide one of your hands beneath the thin material of your tank top, and the other slips to your thighs. With just one little press of your toe into the button, you could pretend it’s all an accident again.

He wouldn’t believe that excuse but this time,  _ if _ you send him another message, you won’t be apologizing to him. This time, you would leave it to him to contact you. 

The pressure on the bottom of your lip where your teeth are still clamped is almost painful and you close your eyes as your toe pressed into the small, square button on the control panel. A single light on the dash lit up red, signaling that the computer was recording and you once again, let your head fall back against the chair.

By now, warmth and a familiar ache had settled in your lower belly and your hands knew what to do without being told. You slip your hand beneath your panties and part your legs just a bit more. It’s hard not to think that whoever watches this--as if it will be anyone besides the Mandalorian--is getting a view of your body right between your legs. 

Would he imagine he’s here with you, watching you touch yourself? Your mouth opens with a little gasp at the thought and thinking of him being turned on only arouses you more. When you move your fingers further between your legs, you find yourself already damp and you easily slip your fingers between the warm folds.

It feels good touching yourself, knowing he would be watching it, knowing he might be doing the same to himself. The thought arches your back off the chair and you take your breast in your hand, squeezing your nipple as your fingers move to your clit. 

You’re not sure if it was the spotchka or the fantasies of being watched by a Mandalorian that has you so turned on. Perhaps it's a combination of the two. 

Biting your lip, you open your legs a bit wider and repeat the words he had said to you weeks ago, trying to remember how deep and raspy his voice had been. Your face is lit with heat at the possibility that he could send you something like this back, that you might hear his ragged breath, his gasps and moans.

You circle your clit faster and your breath hitches in your throat as you find the right amount of pressure you need. In your mind, you imagine the Mandalorian standing in front of you, completely hidden by the layers of his armor. The last time you had seen him in town, he had been taller than you and you can almost see him before you now. 

Knowing he’s watching you, knowing you can’t see an inch of him behind the plates of beskar and the black tint of his visor only turns you on more. You sink a bit lower in the chair and a whimper escapes your lips as your fingers find a new rhythm. 

The aching coil tightening inside you is ready to burst and you work yourself faster. You take one hand out of your shirt and rake it through your hair, gripping a handful at the back of your head. The slight pain only magnifies the pleasure between your thighs and you feel your legs start to twitch and shake.

Your lips part and you let out a cry as the coil unravels. Pleasure spreads through your body in waves and still, you keep your fingers against you to draw out as much of it as you can. Your entire body tingles with warmth at the thought of being recorded. Every arch of your back and tremor that raced through you is captured and with one press of the button, he’ll see it all.

Your eyes open to the ceiling above you and you try to catch your breath. In the fading moments of your afterglow, your senses are starting to return and you realize the horror of what you did. 

But you haven’t sent it yet. There’s still time to erase it and you sit up in the chair, pulling your hand out from your panties. Staring at the lens of the camera, you take your lip back between your teeth and roll the chair closer. 

And despite coming to your senses, despite knowing you would regret it the split second you push the button, the same hand you had used to make yourself orgasm hovers over the transmit switch. Your gaze flickers back to the camera and you can’t help the corner of your lips twitch up into a smirk. 

Your finger pushes into the switch and the red light on the panel fades to black as the message is processed through the computer and sent. Somewhere out there, beyond the tower, far beyond Carajam, your message is being delivered to the Mandalorian’s ship computer. For several seconds, you stare at the tiny little bulb on the dash, waiting for your thoughts to catch up to what you just did.

While they were scrambling to make sense of your decision, you can only form two, simple words on your lips.

“Oh shit.”

* * *


	4. Who knew Mandalorians were so sexy?

* * *

It never fails to confuse you how a planet that’s sole existence is to offer a safe haven to criminals, smugglers, and ne’er do wells can be so  _ boring _ . Aside from the occasional drunken scuffles that happen in the late hours of the night at the cantina--which Tera is usually quick to put a stop to--there is nothing exciting on Carajam.

And since it’s been an entire week since you sent off that damn holo message, an  _ entire week _ of freaking out and worrying, a little excitement would do wonders to take your mind off of a certain Mandalorian bounty hunter. But you aren’t that lucky.

In fact, you have  _ no _ luck whatsoever, it seems. A little luck would go far for your situation and really, you’re not asking for much.

How hard is it to acknowledge a message? Is he too busy that he can’t send a reply back--a quick something to say ‘got your message and I want you to leave me alone forever’. A rejection is far better than being left to wonder what the hell he’s thinking!

The waiting is making you miserable and the summer months coming up on the desert planet are notorious for being the most mundane out of the year. Even smugglers and thieves steer clear of this place during the hottest season. 

Which meant that a particular bounty hunter might also be avoiding this area of the sector. The thought makes you drop your hand in your chin with a pout and you stare out at the evening sun slowly setting far off in the distance. Only one ship--a regular to the planet who brought barrels of spotchka and other ales--had managed to drop earlier that morning and since then... _ zilch. _

Not a single beep on the radar.

No incoming messages.

Nothing.

And you try not to pout but it’s a little difficult knowing somewhere out there, a Mandalorian had your hologram message sitting in his comms and he was either ignoring it or he was disgusted by it. The butterflies had gone sour inside your stomach several days ago and you lean forward, dropping your forehead onto the dash of your control tower with a groan.

There’s no point in sticking around. No one will be landing here today.

Besides, your stocks were starting to run dangerously low and if the summer was going to be a grueling one, you’ll have to go into town and find a service droid to repair your vaporator. The damn thing is always on the fritz and you weren’t going to last the summer without it. Better to get it over with now rather than wait.

You stand from your chair with a sigh and pull your hair over your shoulder, keeping your mind  _ off _ of holo messages and Mandalorians, and concentrate on the list of items you need around your house. A flagon of spotchka is at the top of the list, but so is that service droid and you don’t have much time before sundown.

The droid provider always closes his shop up the moment the sun sets and you don’t want to wait around in the morning to put your order in. Plus, after you put in a ticket, you plan to pay a visit to Tera and possibly confess what you had done once you’re nice and drunk enough.

But as you already realized, luck is never on your side.

Just as your hand reaches for the control panel beside the door leading to the steps outside, a somewhat unfamiliar beeping chirps behind you. The blood drains from your face and you feel panic start to prickle icily up the back of your neck. 

You whirl around and stare at the dash.

The little, red bulb is blinking at the top of your comm unit and while the bulb on the other side is usually the one lit up, you can only stare as you realize that someone is trying to open a communication with you. 

_ A holo _ communication.

They’ll see you and you’ll see them. And by _them_ , you mean the Mandalorian.

Frantically, you swipe your hand over your hair and wish you had a brush up here. Why were you always unprepared? 

The beeping continues and you hurry back to the dash, glancing up at the violet sky for any sign of an incoming ship. The skies are clear and you swallow nervously as you lower yourself back into the chair and hover your hand over the panel of buttons. Your fingers are shaking a bit and you take a deep breath to clear your head before opening the communication.

On the dash, the holo computer blinks to life with a static, blue image before it sorts out and you stare with wide eyes at the unmistakable armor of the Mandalorian. He’s in his ship and you can see that he’s sitting at the controls, but nothing else is visible. He flips a switch overhead before turning his helmet right at you and you can only imagine the look he sees on your face.

Your lips are slightly parted, eyes wide, and face uncharacteristically pale--though you’d appear quite monochrome and blue to him. 

“Uh…” You find yourself stammering, not sure what to say. “Th-this is control tower six.”

“I know,” he says, his voice deep and slightly distorted through the computer. It makes you shiver anyway and you watch him tilt his helmet to the side. “Should I assume this message you sent was another mistake?”

Ah, so he did get the message. And it’s taken him  _ this _ long to contact you about it? You bite your bottom lip and wedge your hands beneath your legs to keep them from shaking. "Yeah, I did. I was..." Heat spreads across your face and you try to think of an excuse good enough to use. "I had a little too much spotchka. I'm sure you've been there before."

"So this one was an accident too?"

"That depends," you shut your eyes and resist the need to bury your face in your hands.

"On what?"

Is his voice always this deep and raspy or is it a combination of his helmet's modulator and the ancient speakers on your dash? Either way, it lights your face brighter than the lights on top of the control tower and you curse yourself--and Tera--for ever thinking this was a good idea.

"On whether or not you liked it?" The uncertainty in your voice is annoying.

Where is the woman that could walk down to the cantina and snag a guy after a few drinks? You miss being the confident woman you usually are. Annoyingly, she's nowhere to be found and you're not sure why you're acting like this Mandalorian is the first man you've ever spoken to about sexual things. You're no stranger to men and yet you're acting like a teenager again.

Sitting up in your chair, you shake the hair from your face and refuse to let your nerves get the best of you. He's just a man, just a bounty hunter that spent many hours alone in space and feels just as horny as you do most nights.

The Mandalorian chuckles softly and the sound instantly melts through you. "I haven't opened it." As his words sink into your head, your eyes widen, and again, you fight the need to crawl into hiding. "I wanted to make sure it wasn't an accident again."

Your mouth opens but no sounds come out. He hasn't watched it? Oh, this was bad.

"I...You haven't watched it?"

"No." The shimmering form of his hologram on the dash twitches and you watch as he tilts his head to the side slightly. "But I can. If you want me to."

That tone of his words is similar to the last time you spoke and you can hear a voice in the back of your head that sounds a lot like Tera's telling you he was flirting with you. In fact, it's practically screaming at you to flirt back.

Despite the flush on your face, you shrug a shoulder and hope you appear aloof and carefree. "If you want to."

The Mandalorian's arm lifts and he reaches for something behind the holoprojector and your breath hitches in your throat. Wait--is he watching it  _ now _ ?

"Oh, actually, it's probably not--"

Over the speakers in his own ship, you hear familiar sounds that light you with an all-new fire of both mortification and desire. He  _ is _ watching it now! To play the message, he has to momentarily disrupt the transmission of your holo-image, giving you a moment to properly freak out.

You leap to your feet and stare down at his flickering image projected on your dash. He sits still as he watches and you reach for the control panel, hovering your palm over the buttons. In just a quick press, you can end communications and save face for the meantime. Your breath is fast and you blink.

How did this get out of control so suddenly? All you had wanted was to be sexy and flirty. You thought the most that would happen is he ignore you and continue on with his life but  _ this _ ?

This is too much.

This is excruciating and--

You can hear your own little whimpers and moans coming from his end of the comms and you spin on your heel, walking away from the control panel. You can't look at him knowing he was watching you. It's too much and the beat of your heart is so fast it's almost painful.

But while you face the opposite side of the control room, your ears are still tuned in to what is happening on the holo-display and you hear a sound that you definitely don't remember making. Again, you spin on your heel and your jaw drops to your chest.

The Mandalorian moans, a quiet rumble that spreads fire licking through your insides and you rush back to the control panel. Your backside barely makes it in the chair and you watch with eyes wide and mouth still hanging open in shock. Is he...turned on?

The thought is honestly surprising, though it  _ had _ been your intended goal, and you feel that familiar slither of warmth and tension settle in your lower belly. You try to relieve a bit of the ache by pressing your legs together but it doesn't help. It only makes you want more and you dart your tongue out to wet your dry lips.

A little voice in the back of your head repeats what Tera had said at the cantina the other night, that bedding a Mandalorian would be quite the conquest. And while you don't care about the bragging rights, you're definitely curious about what kind of lover he would be.

Something told you he's not a man that promises you hours of pleasure and can only deliver forty-five seconds. You just  _ know _ he makes good on any promises he makes. You don't know how you know...but you can feel it.

The recording you had sent him ends and for a moment, he's quiet and the longer he stays that way, the more anxious you get. You wonder if the comm was interrupted but before you can open your mouth to ask if he's still there, he moves.

Slowly, he brings his hands together in front of him and you watch with arousal and curiosity burning through you as he tugs at the fingers of his gloves. One hand comes free and you cross your legs at the knee, leaning forward to put more pressure on the ache between your thighs.

It makes you bite your lip and the pain only turns you on more.

The Mandalorian tosses his gloves to the side and shifts on his chair, lifting his hips up off the seat. He makes quick work of the belt buckle around his waist and pulls it until it comes free and drops to the floor. You watch with fascination as he drops back into the seat and moves one hand to his lap.

He palms himself through his pants and your legs come uncrossed, your foot falling to the floor with a sharp slap of your bare heel. You're already peeling your shirt away from your torso and standing when he speaks again, his voice breathy and clouded with desire.

"Are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm taking my pants off," you tell him quickly, fumbling with the button of your pants. The clasp comes free and you push them down your hips and quickly kick them off.

"Show me," he growls the command and your knees wobble.

Your hands are trembling as you reach for the control dash and you watch his hologram form lean forward. He presses something on his side and a moment later, the red recording light on your dash blinks to life.

Before you can drop back into the chair, he stops you.

"No, don't sit," he orders you, snapping your attention to his hologram. "I want to see all of you."

A shiver races down your spine and slowly, you take a careful step back so the recorder can scan your entire body. Your hands move on their own, sliding up your hips and over your stomach. The fabric of your undershirt catches on your fingers as you dip them beneath it and the muscles over your ribcage twitch.

You're only vaguely aware that you're standing at the top of the control tower with windows on all sides of you, about to put on a show for a Mandalorian, but you don't really care who can see you right now. You only care about one thing and that was what else this bounty hunter wanted of you.

"Take your clothes off," he says. By now, he's rubbing himself through his pants and you want to ask him if he's at all in Carajam's proximity. As hot as this was, and as turned on as you are, you want to feel his hands on you instead of your own. But you stay quiet and let him take control from where he is.

You obey his request and peel your undershirt up over your head before tossing it aside. It falls to the floor beside your chair and you hook your thumbs beneath the waistband of your panties. Slowly, teasingly, you push them down your hips and smile as the Mandalorian watches you.

The armor on his chest rises and falls with each quick breath and he leans back in his chair, giving himself room to reach the clasp of his pants. You ignore the drip of warmth between your thighs and stare at his hologram image. The Mandalorian pulls the fly of his pants open and pushes his hand inside.

Your mouth is watering almost as much as other parts of your body and you wait in anticipation for him to free his cock. The sight of it makes your eyes go wide and you clamp your teeth harder on your bottom lip.

Not many well endowed, promising lovers pass through Carajam. The men that usually stop here aren't the most blessed so seeing the length and thickness of this bounty hunter's cock makes your entire body tremble with delight.

Slowly, you bring your hand to your thighs and dip it between them.

"No," The Mandalorian says in a single breath. His fingers curl around his shaft and you blink in surprise.  _ No _ ? "I want you to watch."

_ Oh _ ...

Again, your knees wobble, and you whimper as you take your hand away from your center. Your body protests but you do as the bounty hunter says and keep your eyes on him. He's slow at first, stroking himself as if he's savoring every inch of his length and you're transfixed.

The tower could collapse and you'd never take your eyes off of him. There's only so little of his body you can see, several delicious inches, but it turns you on more than any other man ever has. You're aching for him and the tension between your legs is almost torture.

You watch him brush his thumb over the head of his cock and wish it was your tongue. Your fingers twitch, desperate to slip back between your thighs. But he had told you to watch and that's what you're going to do.

The Mandalorian's hand slides back down his length and you stare like a hungry animal. All you can think about is how good he would taste on your tongue. Again, you wonder how close he is to the planet and if he can be there before the end of the night, but you stay quiet and do as he asked you to do.

His breath, distorted through his modulator, makes you wet to hear and you let out a whimper. He hears it and his helmet tilts to the side.

"Are you wet?" He asks, the sound of his voice startling you slightly. You nod and again, he says, "Show me."

Your hand wastes no time plunging between your thighs, finding the slick folds with your fingers and you curl the middle one through the heat of your center. When you pull it away, it glistens in the lights overhead.

"Taste it."

His voice pulls your attention back to the hologram and your eyes widen. You're not above doing something like that, but it's strangely arousing hearing such dirty things from a man who seems so... _ rigid _ . Who knew Mandalorians could be so sexy?

Your lips part and you slip your finger between them, curling your tongue around it and tasting yourself. It's as familiar to you as your name and you hum deep in your throat to savor it. The Mandalorian's breath hitches and you can see him pumping himself a bit faster now.

Usually, having a man tell you what to do isn't a turn on. Usually, you know the men that want to tell you what to do can't keep their promises and you have no time for foreplay that only they will benefit from. But this is different.

You  _ want _ to please this bounty hunter.

You want to do what he says because it's turning you on more than anything ever has before.

A grunt muffled by his helmet sends arousal thick and hot through you and you open your lips to draw in a deep breath. It shudders your chest and you wish he would tell you to touch yourself. You're desperate to feel anything against your clit at the moment.

Although, you'd much prefer it to be his fingers...or his tongue.

The Mandalorian strokes himself with determination and even though you can't see a bit of his body aside from his hands and cock, you know he's close. You can tell in the way his helmet falls back against the chair and his hips thrust up into his hand.

_ Fuck _ ...it was so hot to watch and the ache within you was brutal. You've never been this turned on and unable to do something about it.

If this man was on Carajam, there isn't much you wouldn't let him do.

He curses beneath his breath, something too low for you to hear but your eyes widen as he comes. You watch his fist pump over his cock in time with each flow of his release. It lands on the armor across his chest and your mouth waters. Filthy thoughts of you licking his chest plate clean fill your head and you feel the heat of embarrassment touch your cheeks.

He's breathless by the time he lets go of his cock and you're still so pent up you're shaking. It isn't fair but then again...you did cum during the first two messages you sent him.

Now that you were still naked and standing before him, you feel shy and fold your arms around your waist. "So," you start, unable to hide the curl of your lips. "I take it you liked the message?"

The Mandalorian slipped himself back into his pants and sat up in his chair, moving closer to the hologram camera. He tilted his helmet forward and hummed. "I liked it enough to watch it twice now."

Your jaw drops and you don't know whether to be angry, flattered, or irritated that he made you stand there and watch him the whole time. That cheeky bastard. Tera was right, this Mandalorian was quite feisty.

"You little...you owe me, you know."

"Is that right?" He takes a deep breath and lets out a soft, throaty laugh that does nothing to cool the warmth of your skin. You take a seat back in your chair and cross your arms over your chest and your legs at the knee. "Maybe I can make it up to you the next time I'm on Carajam."

"And when will that be?" You hope he can't tell how excited you sound at his suggestion.  _ Play it cool, Six _ , you tell yourself.

For the second time, he chuckles and lifts a hand toward the dash of his ship. With a tilt of his helmet, he says, "I'll let you know," before his holo-image fades to black. You stare where he just was and purse your lips with a scowl that slowly turns into a smirk. That feisty, cheeky Mandalorian was too sexy for his own good.

* * *


End file.
